


Five Kisses and Then One More

by ozsaur



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Gift Fic, Holiday Fic Exchange, Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Oz Magi, Recreational Drug Use, Scheming, Scheming O'Reily, Violence, five things, lardner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:23:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/pseuds/ozsaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A biography of kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses and Then One More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmk418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/gifts).



> Written for cmk418 for Oz Magi 2012.

Ryan loved hanging out with Michael Shaughnessy. They only lived a few blocks from each other, but the difference in the way they lived was miles and miles apart. For one thing, Michael lived in a big house with a basement where they sometimes hid out when they played hooky from school. 

During the summer when it was too hot to play stickball, or ride their bikes around the neighborhood with the other kids, they'd sit on the broken down sofa in the dim coolness of Michael's basement. They'd watch soap operas on the scratchy black and white tv that had tinfoil wrapped around the rabbit eared antennas in a vain attempt to get better reception. Sometimes, Michael's older brother would run them off so he could make out with his girlfriend, but mostly they had the place to themselves.

That's how Ryan liked it. He liked hanging out with the other boys, but he'd rather be with Michael, his best friend, and his favorite person in the world after Cyril. Except on days when Cyril was being a brat; then, Michael was his all-time favorite.

What he really liked was that Michael came from a big family, and they were always having birthday parties. Ryan and Michael had just finished eating the last piece of leftover birthday cake that they'd snatched from the kitchen. Michael was probably going to get in trouble for it later, but for now, they both sat back on the couch licking the last crumbs of cake from their fingers. 

Ryan didn't get a lot of sweets at home. Not in the O'Reily household where money went toward booze, or "the bills" those things his mother cried over when the paycheck was short because Pops had a hangover and couldn't make it to work. When he worked.

If Ryan wanted something, he had to take it himself. Like the leftover birthday cake. It tasted especially good because he hadn't been invited to the party. Mrs. Shaughnessy didn't like Ryan at all, and always looked at him like he was some kind of bug. She'd hate it if she found them down in the basement flopped on the couch and snickering over their stolen treat.

Ryan turned his head to ask Michael to turn the tv on, but he forgot what he was going to say when he saw a dab of icing on the corner of Michael's mouth. It would be funny if he didn't mention it at all, and if Michael spent the rest of the day with that bit of white at the corner of his mouth. That would be a cool prank, but Michael was his friend. And he did help Ryan get the cake; he could still taste the sweetness on his own lips. He could wipe the icing off Michael's lip with a finger, but it tasted so good.

Ryan leaned over and licked the corner of Michael's mouth. The sweetness burst on his tongue one second before Michael turned, and punched him right in the chest. Michael jumped up from the couch, hands balled into fists.

"What are you, some kind of faggot?!"

Ryan gasped for breath and rubbed at his chest. Michael swung his fist at Ryan's face, but Ryan somehow manage to block it. Ryan stood up, still rubbing his chest with one hand.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Ryan yelled.

"Fucking faggot," Michael yelled back.

Ryan had heard the word faggot before, many times, but he had no idea what it meant. Michael obviously did, but he'd never mentioned it to Ryan. They were friends, they were supposed to tell each other everything.

Ryan glared. "I'm not a faggot!"

"You kissed me! In my book, that makes you a fag, Ryan O'Reily. My mother always told me you were no good."

Ryan's mind raced as he tried to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. Michael was looking at him like he was made of dirt, just like his mother did. And he still didn't know what a faggot was, so how could he defend himself against that? All he knew was that if it got out, he'd spend every day of the rest of his life getting his ass kicked. The other boys would lie in wait for him as he and Cyril walked home from school. And if his Pops found out...

Under the little spurt of fear was a sudden, boiling anger. Why did every good thing have to get messed up? 

"I'm no faggot. You take it back."

"You're trash, you and your whole family. Wait 'til I tell -- "

Ryan didn't let another word come out of Michael's mouth. Ryan's Pop wasn't good for much, but he did do one thing right: he taught Ryan and Cyril how to land a punch. He wanted to make sure his boys grew up tough. He wasn't about to have any fairies in his family, not that there was a chance that Ryan or Cyril would turn into flying Tinkerbells. 

The first punch landed right on Michael's big mouth. Michael went down, but Ryan didn't dare let up, he had to make sure he kept that big mouth shut. He kept his fists moving, his arms swinging wildly, but landing enough blows to make Michael curl up and start bawling. Ryan stood up, panting hard. He kicked Michael in the back.

"You're the fag, you hear me? You are! Michael the faggot!"

"I'm sorry!" he blubbered. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I shouldn't have said it."

"Damn right." He felt daring saying a curse word. His mother would wash his mouth out if she'd heard it. "We can't be friends any more. I can't be friends with a big, crybaby faggot like you!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"I know you are," he said. 

As he straighted up, Ryan realized that his hands hurt, and he felt a little sick to his stomach. He walked over to the basement door that led outside. 

"Better keep your mouth shut. If I hear one lie about me, I'll know it was you that said it. You don't want me to come back and kick your teeth in."

Ryan walked out, slamming the door behind him. His mind was already working overtime. He couldn't trust Michael to stay quiet. Michael was a big blabbermouth. Ryan didn't know why he used to hang out with such a creep anyway. 

As Ryan walked toward his neighborhood, he thought about the other boys he went to school with. Some of them were probably hanging out at the corner store. Some might be at Little Stevie's house, his parents just bought a color tv. He'd make sure everybody knew what a little creep Michael was, and what a couple of snobs his parents were, and how they looked down their noses at the rest of them.

Ryan wasn't going to be the kid that got beat up after school.

 

Avery wasn't Irish, but his last name was Parker, and that was good enough. He was sharp, and he kept a cool head, which made him a natural as Ryan's second, over guys with names like O'Neill or Connolly.

As they walked into the backroom of The Shamrock, Ryan flung an arm around Avery's shoulders in a rough hug. The take that week had been better than expected; transfer of drugs to his dealers had gone off like clockwork; not a single measly fiver had gone astray. If business could be like this every week, Ryan could retire before he turned twenty-five.

Avery laughed, and walked over to the table against the back wall, and dropped his duffel bag on it. Ryan dropped an identical bag beside it. Without a word, they opened them up and began to feed the bills inside to the money counter that was already set up and waiting for them. Kelly was a stand-up kind of guy for letting them use the backroom; in payment, Ryan kept his crew away from the front part of the bar where the old timers like to sit around and reminisce about the old country.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, the hum of the money counter the only noise in the room. The bar upfront was already closed for the night, so there was no one around to disturb them. 

Ryan kind of liked it that way, just him and Avery. Avery never bitched and moaned, and he never made demands. And Ryan didn't have to constantly watch his back. There were a couple of Ryan's subordinates that had their greedy eyes on his operation, and that wouldn't do. He was going to have to take action, and soon.

But tonight, as soon as they were finished counting and stacking the money to take to the launderers, he was going to kick back and have a couple of beers with Avery, shoot the shit for a while before going home to an empty apartment.

Ryan smiled a little at Avery. He was humming to himself as he pulled another fat stack of cash out of the money counting machine, and added it to the growing pile. He was a stand-up guy, Avery. Like a substitute brother. With Cyril too young, still in high school, Ryan needed that kind of dependable backup. Anyway, Cyril was all about girls and boxing, he didn't give a damn about the business, just the money Ryan slipped to him regularly. Cyril had a boxing coach now; Ryan was paying the guy good money to train Cyril. The coach believed Cyril had a bright future as a boxer, and had a real shot at being a champion one day. With Avery by his side, he could keep Cyril on the straight and narrow, keep him out of the business. 

Avery caught Ryan looking at him, and paused. "Is there something on my face?"

"Nah, just thinking."

Avery tilted his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "About me?"

Ryan snorted and punched Avery lightly on the arm. "Yeah, you."

The smile disappeared, and Avery's eyes suddenly became very intense. "I've been thinking about you, too."

Then he leaned over and kissed Ryan.

Ryan didn't move, stunned all the way down to his toes. His mind had never blanked so completely before. As the soft pressure finally left his lips, his brain clicked back on, and he shoved Avery away.

"What the hell, Avery?"

Avery held his hands up defensively. "Sorry, Ryan. Sorry. I misread the signals."

"Signals? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It was nothing, man. I'm sorry, it won't happen again." 

He began grabbing money out of his duffel bag, shoving it at the money machine, clearly rattled.

Ryan was caught between the urge to punch him in the face, or shake him until he gave up more information. Signals? Had Ryan been giving off signals? He wasn't a faggot, so how could he been giving out signals?

Ryan forced himself to stay calm, even though he wanted to yell and beat the crap out of Avery. He had to think before he did anything too hasty. He couldn't afford to lose Avery right now. The operation was stable, but there were a couple of fucks around who were too ambitious for their own good.

This was big, though. He'd had no idea Avery had been hiding this kind of secret. If anyone ever suspected, they'd start thinking Ryan was a fag, too. Not only would he lose everything he worked so hard for, but he probably wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

"Look, I'm sorry," Avery mumbled.

"Forget it. Let's finish up here and you can take the money to Morty's."

Avery glanced up, a mix relief and gratitude on his face. It went against every instinct, but Ryan would let Avery take the money as usual. It was obvious that Avery interpreted that to mean that Ryan still trusted him. 

He didn't. He just needed time to calm down, and figure things out. He couldn't keep Avery around, and risk his secret being discovered. Avery was a damn good actor, that's for sure. He'd fooled Ryan for nearly two years. Hopefully, he'd be able to keep the act up that he was a normal guy until Ryan came up with a plan.

It really fucking sucked. He didn't have anyone strong enough to take Avery's place, not someone he could trust who wouldn't have their eye on Ryan's position. He'd have to start grooming someone which could take months. In the meantime, Avery would know exactly why he was slipping lower and lower down the chain of command, and maybe get pissed enough to start shooting off his mouth.

He had to take care of this fast. He could set something up with the mutts who thought they had the balls to take over. Maybe let Avery think Ryan was testing him, let him handle them. But Ryan would be behind the scenes setting them all up to take a fall, do a little internal housecleaning.

As a plan began to form, he wondered who could step in to fill Avery's shoes. Too bad Cyril was still in school. He was almost seventeen, though...

Ryan had started dealing drugs when he was a lot younger than that. He was about Cyril's age when he'd started putting his gang together. It wouldn't hurt for Cyril to know a little about how the real world worked. And who in their right mind actually thought a skinny Irish guy could be a boxing champion any more? Cyril would never be like Muhammad Ali.

Yeah, he'd be doing Cyril a favor bringing him into the operation as his second. And he could trust Cyril not to get up to any funny business.

"Okay, we're done," Avery said, zipping up the duffel bags. He kept glancing at Ryan from the corners of his eyes.

"Right," Ryan said, forcing himself to clap Avery's shoulder like he normally would. "Get that over to Morty's, and I'll see you tomorrow night."

Avery visibly relaxed as he lifted the bags from the table. "We're cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool," Ryan replied.

Avery was smiling as he walked out the door. Two other guys met him there and escorted him to his car where he proceeded to put the duffel bags into the trunk of his car. He gave Ryan a wave as he got into the back seat of the car, the other two guys taking the front. As they drove off, Ryan locked up. 

Tomorrow, he'd meet up with Cyril and have a talk with him. Really, it was long past time to bring Cyril on board.

After that, he would start making plans for Avery.

 

It was kind of nice getting away somewhere with Tobias Beecher. The storage room was quiet, a little dusty, and very private. It got old having eyes on him 24/7. He literally couldn't take a shit without half the population of Em City knowing about it, and the other half finding out through the gossip vine. Fucking murderers, con-artists, and thieves were worse than a bunch of old ladies at the beauty parlor getting a blue rinse.

Ryan usually did this with Beecher in the back of his pod when the hacks were distracted by something else; there was always something else distracting in Em City.

That was the problem. Ryan needed a little peace and quiet once in a while, and sometimes he needed to cut loose with someone he trusted. At least, someone he trusted not to stab him while he was high. Beecher wasn't about to bite the hand that offered him tits for free.

Granted, Beecher had given him money a time or two, and occasionally chocolate bars, and once a travel book that Ryan didn't have in his collection. They were sort of friends, as much as two people in prison could be friends. Ryan could relax with Beecher, let his hair down a little, get high. 

Sometimes, they talked. Okay, sometimes they talked when they weren't sitting around giggling at stupid shit like a couple of idiots -- another reason to hide out in the storage room. Nobody needed to see that.

Today had been a more giggling kind of day, and if anyone ever accused him of giggling over anything, he'd have to cut the cocksucker. With that thought, Ryan realized he was losing his buzz.

Ryan had to nudge Beecher over, he'd been leaning against Ryan almost the entire time they'd been in the storage room, so he could get his hand in his pocket for another bag of tits. Beecher watched as Ryan poured a thin line down the edge of his hand, along the curve of his thumb and forefinger, a silly grin on his face. 

"All right," Beecher said, but the words spread out, and sounded like aaaalllll riiiiight. 

Ryan couldn't help but laugh. A high Beecher was always entertaining. 

He held out his hand to Beecher who eagerly put his nose to the white powder, and began to snuffle it up. That made Ryan laugh (not giggle!) again; it tickled. When Beecher drew back, his eyes were unfocused, and there was a dusting of powder on the tip of his nose. 

Ryan pointed. "You need to get that off. It looks like you've been sticking your face in a bag of jelly donuts." He could feel a grin stretching all the muscles of his face. Beecher was fucking funny.

Suddenly, Beecher's tongue flicked out, as fast as a snake, and licked the tip of his nose.

"Fuck! Do that again!" Ryan demanded.

Beecher licked the tip of his nose again. Ryan cracked up. He laughed so hard, Beecher had to take the bag of tits out of his hand before he spilled it. Every time Ryan started to calm down, Beecher would do it again, sending him off into another fit of laughter.

"Stop! Stop! My stomach hurts," Ryan said, hands pressing at his stomach.

Toby was really grinning, his teeth pretty and white, his lips stretched in a pink frame around his teeth. It looked kind of crazy. He touched the tip of his finger to the corner of Toby's mouth and traced the line of it, first the bottom lip and then the top.

The smile faded, and Toby's lips felt softer now that they weren't stretched out. They looked softer. Soft enough to--

Ryan gasped and jerked away. He caught a glimpse of Toby, now touching his own lips, as he scrambled to his feet.

"Ryan, wait-- "

He didn't. He headed out the door at a near run, forgetting to even check if there was anybody in the corridor. Fuck, he was making mistakes left and right.

He shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have-- No, it was the drugs. He needed to lay off the shit for a while. That had been fucked up. He wasn't a fucking fag. The drugs made him do it. And Toby. 

Toby was going to want some answers, and he wouldn't let things go until he got them. Fuck if Ryan had any. He wasn't a fag, he didn't know what had come over him. 

He had to cut Toby loose; he had to keep his head in the game. Another fuck up like that could mean a shank in his back. Hanging out with Toby had been fun with a bonus fuck you to Schillinger, but now it was over.

Schillinger had been putting the pressure on Toby lately. One of the reasons Ryan had invited him to the storeroom was to help him blow off steam. Now, he had to let that steam build. Ryan needed to get his hands on something a lot stronger than Beecher was used to, something a lot more dangerous.

When the right moment came, he'd dose Beecher up, and aim him like his very own personal guided missile. Once the smoke cleared, he'd see who was left standing. If it worked out right, Ryan would be rid of both Beecher and Schillinger.

 

Jesus Christ, Miguel Alvarez was a sad fuck of a human being. Then again, so was Ryan. So were all the other poor fuckers who lived here, or worse, worked here of their own free will. With Alvarez curled up in a ball in the corner, it was beginning to look like Alvarez was the saddest fuck in the whole damn joint.

Ryan walked over, and prodded Alvarez with his foot. He didn't react at all, not even a flinch. Ryan glanced around. He knew what kind of asshole Torquemada was, a very dangerous one. The bastard was possessive, and liked breaking his toys when he was done with them rather than set them free. Throwing acid in an ex-lover's face was the reason Torquemada was in there.

In spite of the risks, Ryan needed more intel on his competition, so he thought he'd take a look around Torquemada's pod while he was out prancing around with his faggot posse. Ryan hadn't realized that Alvarez was in there.

After another glance around, Ryan crouched down, and put his hand on Alvarez's shoulder. Maybe he could ask a few questions, get the inside scoop from Torquemada's latest toy. He gave a gentle shake. "Alvarez?"

It happened so fast, Ryan didn't even realize what was happening until he felt Alvarez's tongue push deep into his mouth. With his entire body frozen in shock, all he could do was kneel there and take the urgent probing of his mouth. It was wet, and sloppy, and every time he tried to move away, the hands fisted in the front of his shirt pulled him closer. 

When Ryan didn't get away, it seemed to do something to Alvarez. The kiss slowed, and his tongue eased into a sensual glide, teasing a response from Ryan. Groaning, Ryan returned the kiss, the rest of the world falling away like it was nothing. All that mattered was the heat coursing through his body, and the sensation of two hungry mouths melded together in a kiss.

Alvarez's hand on the bare skin of his waist was like an bucket of ice water poured over his head. Gasping, Ryan shoved away from Alvarez, landing on his ass. 

"'lonzo, lemme touch you." Alvarez said, his voice slurred. "You never let me touch you. You never touch me. I can make it good for you, 'lonzo."

Alvarez reached for him, but Ryan was already on his feet. At the door to the pod, he at least had enough sense to look around to see if anyone was watching. Alvarez kept mumbling behind him, an incoherent mess. 

Ryan casually stepped out of the pod, and strode along the catwalk. So what he'd heard was true. Torquemada never touched Alvarez. He only stood there and watched as Alvarez took care of himself, putting on a show. What kind of stupid shit was that? If you were going to have a prag, might as well use him. Not that Ryan would ever want one, no matter how hard up he got. He had Gloria.

Ryan entered his pod, and went to the sink to splash water on his face. It went a long way toward cooling his overheated body. Running his wet hands through his hair, he straightened up and studied his reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

He was okay. His mouth was a little pink, but that didn't mean anything. There was nothing wrong with him. He loved Gloria, and that meant he was normal. 

What happened with Alvarez was like... like animals. Like animals in heat. It was just the needs of his body, nothing more. Whatever was going on with Alvarez's fucked up situation was none of Ryan's concern. He had his own problems.

Alvarez would take care of himself, the way he was putting away the D-tabs. He'd probably been too high to remember anything anyway. All Ryan had to do was mind his own business, and let Alvarez go to hell on his own time.

Ryan scowled and turned away from the mirror when he realized he'd been standing there watching himself lick his still tingling lips. 

 

Lardner didn't have all the hidey-holes, and nooks and crannies like Oz, but it did have a few places out of the way places where a man could get high in private. Okay, not completely private; Ryan had been meeting Alvarez in the little utility closet behind the laundry room for the past couple of weeks.

Alvarez was already there, leaning against the wall looking half-asleep. 

"You couldn't have waited for me?" Ryan grumbled.

Alvarez held out a bottle of pills without bothering to open his eyes. Ryan took it, and dumped a couple of pills into the palm of his hand, then tossing them into his mouth without looking at the label. 

It made no sense that Alvarez worked in the infirmary. Some bureaucrat saw that he had worked in Oz's infirmary and put him to work there without bothering to read the rest of Alvarez's file. The man was lucky to not be thrown into Solitary, but the entire prison was overwhelmed with all the prisoners from Oz. The overcrowding was criminal. Privately, Ryan laughed at his own joke.

Ryan joined Alvarez against the wall, facing him. It wasn't long before numbness crept over him, and the world around him began to blur around the edges. His thoughts slowed to a syrupy crawl.

"S'good stuff," Ryan said.

"Yeah," Alvarez said. "I looked in that pill book doctors use." 

He could hear the words spin out of Alvarez's mouth, not really understanding them, and not really caring. Ryan understood now why Alvarez had been willing to whore himself to Torquemada for D-tabs. This numbness was better than waking up every day to the knowledge that he was alone, that everything he'd ever cared about was gone. Cyril was dead, Gloria disappeared after the evacuation from Oz, and Pops had fucking died five days after arriving at Lardner. 

There was nothing left for either one of them. Ryan didn't know how long he'd been floating in a haze when he focused enough to study Alvarez's face. He looked kind of peaceful with his eyes closed like he was sleeping, his lips slightly parted. Pretty and peaceful. Like Sleeping Beauty.

The thought didn't even form in his head; he leaned over and brushed his lips against Alvarez's. Just like in the story, Alvarez's eyes slowly opened.

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Yeah," Ryan said. It was weird that he wasn't denying it, and wasn't running away. It felt kind of nice not giving a damn.

"What is wrong with you two knuckleheads?"

It was fucked up that Ryan was too fucked up to even startle properly. He looked through bleary eyes at Beecher standing there with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Kind of reminded Ryan of his ex-wife.

Toby reached out and snatched the pills out of his hand.

"Hey!" Ryan yelled, and overbalanced trying to grab them back, nearly landing on his face. Miguel's hand stopped him.

Ryan couldn't even work up a good head of steam as he stood there and watched Toby read the pill bottle. 

"Christ, do you idiots have any idea of what this shit does to your brains?" 

Toby stuffed the bottle into his pocket, then reached out and smacked both of them across their heads. 

"Fuck you," Alvarez said, trying to slap at Toby, but he easily danced out of the way.

"I should just walk and leave you two here to rot." Toby said.

"Then why don't you?" Ryan asked.

"Because I need you two pricks to get out of here." Toby snorted. "Oh, now I have your attention."

He sure as hell did. "What do you mean, get out of here?" Ryan demanded.

"I need someone I can trust. I'm not sure I can trust you two. Neither one of you has been sober since we got here."

Alvarez made an effort to straighten himself up and smooth down his clothes. Ryan followed his lead, but Toby didn't look impressed. He rubbed his head and muttered under his breath.

"You have a plan?" Ryan asked. 

Toby sighed. "Not yet, but I have some ideas. I walked all the way from the cafeteria to here and didn't get stopped once. And the two of you shack up here three or four days a week and nobody notices, except me. The overcrowding makes it impossible to keep track of everyone." Toby shrugged. "I need a couple of partners I can trust."

"We're in," Alvarez said.

Ryan nodded, but the motion caused him to sway and fall back against the wall.

"Right," Toby sneered. "I'd be better off with a couple of random assholes from Lardner."

He started to turn away, but Alvarez grabbed his arm.

"Wait, wait," Alvarez said. "You know us, you know we're good. I've escaped before."

"And you ended up back in Oz again," Toby pointed out.

"Yeah, but once we're out, that's not your problem."

At least he looked like he was listening. Ryan got himself upright again, and made an effort to stand straight. An emotion unfurled in his chest, small and fragile. He hadn't felt anything like it since Cyril died. It felt like he was waking up, like maybe he had been Sleeping Beauty all this time.

"Toby," Ryan said, holding out his hand. "We were friends once."

Toby studied him for a long moment, then took his hand. He yanked Ryan into his arms, kissed him, quick and fierce, then pushed him away. "You owed me that one."

Toby gave Ryan and Alvarez a hard look. "If the two of you can pull your heads out of your asses, come and talk to me. If you can't, I'll be talking to someone else. Time is short; they'll be sending us back to Oz in two months."

Then he was gone, the door snicking shut behind him.

"Do you think we can do it?" Alvarez asked.

"I don't know. But anythings better than this."

"Yeah," Alvarez agreed, slinging an arm around Ryan's shoulders. The weight felt comfortable there. 

He glanced at Alvarez. Maybe he wasn't alone. The kiss hadn't bothered him. And the way Toby had kissed Ryan, well...

If Ryan knew anything, it was how to win people, how to make them loyal. Even Gloria, in spite of everything he'd put her through, had responded to him in the end, though she was gone now. Tentatively, Ryan put his arm around Alvarez's-- no, Miguel's waist. Easy as pie, Miguel leaned into Ryan, not at all embarrassed at the contact.

Miguel would be easy. Toby, would be a little harder, but not by much. They were both needy as hell. So was Ryan. He needed them, too.

"We better get to the infirmary," Ryan said. "We're gonna have to detox if we want in on Toby's plan."

Miguel groaned. "This is gonna be a bitch."

"But we're in it together," Ryan said. "Let's go."

The End


End file.
